


Some Bravery

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consent, Five Times, M/M, Other, Possession, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in season 9 . . . kind of. After Cas steals another angel's Grace, his vessel is destroyed. It simply can't handle the strain of going from angel to human and back again. Cas needs a new one, and fast. Luckily for him, his significant other just so happens to come from a long line of strong vessels.</p><p>Four times Sam trusted Cas enough to let him take over, and one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Bravery

**Author's Note:**

> For nepherim @ tumblr, who requested a story where Cas's vessel is destroyed, so he asks Sam's permission to possess him. This is what came out of that: A five-times consent fic.
> 
> This disregards canon in so many ways that it's best to call it an AU. Basically, here's what you need to know: The season 9 timeline is totally screwed up, Cas still has his wings, we're pretending that the angel war and stuff isn't happening, but Heaven is still closed for maintenance and everyone is hunting down Metatron. I think that's it, but seriously, I fucked up so much stuff that if anything is unclear, don't hesitate to ask me about it. Also, I apologise if the way that Sam and Cas communicate becomes confusing, but I honestly couldn't think of a better way to do it.
> 
> Title from (as you can probably guess) a John Donne poem called "The Funeral." There's approximately no death in this fic.

**0.**            Sam had experience with illusions. He was a hunter, for starters, a gold-star member of the Nightmares Every Night club, a veteran Seer, and even got a free trial of Hallucifer for almost two weeks.

                This was nothing like any of that.

                It had all the realism of a hallucination, except for the fact that Sam knew he was asleep, and that while this was an illusion, it was also very real.

                He was standing in a room so dark that he couldn’t see the walls where they closed him in, but he inherently knew it was a room. It wasn’t frightening or claustrophobic, like in his nightmares, but it was actually comforting. It was slightly warm, but not uncomfortably so, and there were storm clouds rolling overhead, flashing with lightning even though there was no thunder to be heard.

                Sam wondered briefly if it was possible for his brain to be awake while his body was asleep, but didn’t reach an answer when the thunder boomed. It sounded like it was calling his name.

                “Hello?” Sam called back. His voice didn’t echo like he expected, but rather was swallowed up by the darkness and the storm.

                _Sam_ , the thunder rolled again, _It’s me. It’s Castiel._

                “Cas?” Sam stared up at the clouds as if he’d be able to see Cas there. He didn’t, of course, but it was a little disheartening all the same. He hadn’t seen Cas in weeks, since Dean kicked him out of the bunker, and Cas found something else to do with his life while they figured everything out. “What’s going on? Did you -- ?”

                _Yes, Sam, I’m an angel again._

                “Holy shit. How?”

                If waves of celestial intent could sigh, that’s what Cas did. _It was . . . I did something I’m not proud of. I stole another angel’s Grace._

                “You can do that?” Sam asked in wonderment.

                _Yes. But my vessel couldn’t handle the strain, so this is the only way I can appear to you, and even this is quite taxing_.

                “Save your strength, Cas,” Sam said. So Cas’s vessel had been destroyed. Sam wasn’t quite sure what to think about that, although the memory of Cas being blown to bits at the snap of Lucifer’s fingers was immediately brought to mind.

                _This is important. Attempting to work with another angel’s Grace is something like the human body attempting to accept a donor organ. It will take me a while to get used to it and make it my own, and it could reject me at any time._

                “So,” Sam started, almost afraid to ask, “What happens if it rejects you and you don’t have a vessel?”

                _I don’t know_. At the very least, Sam was grateful for Cas’s honesty. _As far as I know, nothing like that has ever happened. However, I think it’s a safe assumption that I will cease to exist._

                Not “die,” but “cease to exist.” The mere thought put a lump in Sam’s throat. He had always been comforted by the idea that he and Cas could be together in Heaven, but if worst came to worst now . . .

                _That’s why I’m here, Sam_ , Cas continued, and Sam had to wonder if Cas was not only in his head but could hear what went on there as well. _I need your help._

                Sam sighed in relief. He could be useful; he could help prevent the worst from happening. “Anything, Cas.”

                _Don’t promise me anything. You don’t know what I’m going to ask of you._

                “Does it matter? If I can help, I want to.”

                _I hate to ask this. Truly, I do, and you have every right to deny me, Sam. I want you to remember that. Please, promise me you’ll be honest_.

                “Of course, Cas. Always.”

                _Okay. Thank you. Sam . . . I would be greatly indebted to you if you . . . if you would agree to be my vessel until I am strong enough to find a new one._

                Sam’s breath caught in his throat, his blood turning to ice in his veins. He distinctly remembered being possessed by Meg, overpowered by Lucifer, taken advantage of by Gadreel. He still had nightmares about it all, which Cas knew full well because he was often the one who held him through those nightmares.

                But this was Cas. Cas wouldn’t hurt him like that, right?

                “Will, uh,” he started weakly. Sam cleared his throat and tried again. “Will I be able to remember everything?”

                _Of course,_ Cas assured quickly. _Sam, I would never do what Gadreel did to you. You will always be in control, I swear. Unless you decide to relinquish it, for whatever reason._

                Sam took a deep breath. This was fine. He could do this for Cas. “Okay,” he sighed nervously.

                _Are you absolutely sure? You have no obligation to do this for me_.

                Sam would beg to differ. He couldn’t imagine living without Castiel, not after everything. “Hey,” he laughed nervously, “It’s not exactly the first time you’ve been inside me, right?”

                _Sam._

                “Sorry.”

                _Please take this seriously_.

                “Right, sorry.” He took a deep, calming breath and tried again: “Yes, I’m sure. I want to do this for you.”

                _And you can expel me at any time, should you desire to_.

                “I wouldn’t do that to you, Cas.”

                _Please, don’t make promises like that._

                Sam didn’t answer. He couldn’t have even if he wanted to as the storm clouds dissolved into a brilliant bright light. Sam had to remind himself to avert his eyes lest he be blinded and noticed that the room was falling to pieces around him as well.

                And then there was nothing at all.

When Sam woke up in the morning, he remembered everything, just like Cas had promised. He debated whether or not to tell Dean and decided this was something best kept to himself.

                _I shouldn’t have to stay long_.

                Sam almost jumped out of his skin. He could hear Cas’s voice loud and clear in his head as if it were his own.

                “Holy shit, Cas, you scared me,” he groaned.

                _My apologies. I didn’t mean to._

                “S’fine. Just . . . I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think I’d be able to hear you or anything.”

                _Unless I actively hide myself from you, you will be able to sense me at all times and hear me when I speak._

                “So, like, are you in my head? Can you hear what I’m thinking?”

                _I can. But I can also avoid it easily enough. Sam, I cannot thank you enough for this._

                “What, you thought I was going to let you drift alone in the cosmos or something? No, after everything you’ve done for me, this is the least I can do.”

                _Sam –_

                “Shut up,” Sam smiled. “I love you.”

                Sam wasn’t quite sure how, but he distinctly heard Cas sigh. _I love you too_.

                “And you can, y’know, take over sometimes if you want,” Sam offered, even though the concept frightened him a little. But he recognised that Cas hitching a ride like this wasn’t quite the same as he was probably used to when taking a vessel. “Just give me some warning beforehand.”

                _Thank you, but I don’t think I will unless it becomes necessary._

 

 

 

 **I.**             It was supposedly a simple hunt – a wendigo in central Illinois, nothing they hadn’t handled before. Only, it really wasn’t, not two of them at once. At some point, Sam and Dean were separated, and Sam was cornered. They took him back kicking and screaming, tied him up, and left. That was several hours ago. Sam’s arm had long since been wrenched out of its socket from his struggles, sweat and dirt made his eyes water and his vision blurry, and Dean was nowhere to be found. Sam stopped shouting for him an hour into the capture.

                _I can help_ , Cas piped up. _If you would like_.

                “No thanks, Cas,” Sam grit, attempting to touch the ground so he could take some weight off his shoulder. All he really did was tug on it more. “It’s just a ‘digo. Dean and I’ve dealt with them before.”

                _This efficiently?_ Cas responded sarcastically.

                “Oh, shut up,” Sam grumbled, working the rope around his wrists.

                _Would you at least like me to heal you while you’re here?_

                “No. Dean will get suspicious. Either I’ll figure this out myself or he’ll come get me.”

                Sam managed to work a little give in the rope, and he grunted as he dropped a precious few inches, enough to get his feet on the ground. The tension eased from his arms, and he sighed in relief. It still hurt like a bitch, but it was at least manageable.

                Now he just had to find a way out. He looked around, but even with how much time his eyes had to adjust, it was too dark to make out anything significant. It smelled dank and rotten, and Sam guessed they were in a cave of sorts. They must have been pretty far back if the sunlight couldn’t reach them.

                _It’s nighttime_ , Cas supplied helpfully. _It’s a bit lighter when the sun is out, though not by much where you’re standing._

                “And where am I standing?”

                _Exit at five o’clock._

                “Great,” Sam mumbled. He worked the ropes a bit more, but it seemed they had already given all they were going to. He would have to find some way to cut them, because there was no way he could wiggle or break his way through with his arm fucked as it was.

                A low growl echoed through the cave, and Sam immediately froze. No, they couldn’t be back. Not yet. He looked around frantically for something – anything – he could use, but between the darkness and the dirt in his eyes, he couldn’t see much of anything.

                The growls only got louder, and soon they were accompanied by a soft shuffling as well. Wow, Sam thought bitterly, for creatures that can move too quickly to see, they sure are taking their time. But they weren’t moving slowly enough because Sam had made no headway with the rope when he heard them breathing heavily at the entrance, right behind him.

                _Sam –_

                “Not now, Castiel,” he hissed under his breath as he squirmed, the wendigos approaching from either side.

                They stopped right beside him, their rancid breath making him retch. One of them brought a razor-sharp claw down to tear through the front of his shirt, exposing the skin of his torso. With an icy shot of dread, Sam realised they weren’t going to save him for later – they were going to eat him now.

                _Sam, please. I can save you. Please, let me_.

                And Sam realised right then, even as one of the wendigos’ claws drew up and down his torso as if teasing, that Cas would let them both die here. Unless he had Sam’s express permission to save them both, he would let them die on something little more than a mediocre wendigo hunt.

                The claw pierced his stomach just below his sternum, and Sam screamed. “CAS! IF YOU’RE GONNA DO IT THEN DO IT!”

                Sam felt a familiar surge of Grace from his core to his fingertips, warm and powerful and familiar unlike Gadreel’s had been. Sam felt Cas take control, but it wasn’t terrifying because he gave permission for Cas to do this, because he could feel the dignity and care with which Cas moved, as if he would rather be torn to shreds than misstep.

                Cas broke through the ropes in one move, and Sam barely registered the pain, although he knew he’d be feeling it later. With one hand on each of the wendigos’ faces and a blinding white light, they both dropped.

                And so did Sam. As soon as the wendigos were dead, Cas relinquished control, and Sam found it difficult to stand on legs that hadn’t supported him in hours. He fell to his hands and knees, and then immediately toppled over onto his side with a cry of pain as his shoulder was wrenched horribly.

                _Sam, would you like me to heal you now?_ Cas asked. The urgency and concern in his tone was unmistakable.

                “No,” Sam managed to grit between his teeth. “No, I told you earlier. Dean would get suspicious. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. This is nothing.”

                _You have a strange idea of ‘nothing,’ Sam._ But Cas didn’t take control back or try to take the pain away. He didn’t have permission to.

                Strangely, the thought made him smile a bit. Before he tried to lift himself up and blacked out from the pain.

                He couldn’t have been out for very long, but when Sam came to, he didn’t hurt nearly as much, and sunlight was shining weakly into the cave. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see by. Sam struggled to lift himself.

                _I wouldn’t advise that_ , Cas piped up. _Your wounds are bleeding profusely. It seems there was an anticoagulant coating the creatures’ claws._

                “What?” Sam groaned. “That doesn’t make any sense.” Wendigos relied on keeping their food alive, sometimes for months, so an anticoagulant would make no sense. But as he looked around himself, he had to agree that there was too much blood soaking his clothing and pooled on the floor. He laid back down and considered his options. “What are the chances of getting out of this alive myself?”

                _It’s unlikely, but not impossible. You’ll likely bleed out before you reach any kind of civilisation._

                “Great,” Sam sighed. “Look, Cas, I really don’t want to ask, but – “

                _You want me to heal your wounds now?_

“Just a little. Like, scab over the bleeding ones or something.”

                It was such a different sensation, being healed from the inside out. Sam could feel the warm tendrils of Grace unfurling from somewhere inside him, reaching for the places where the bleeding was worst and plugging them up. He hummed in contentment despite the pain he felt all over – this felt nice.

                All too soon, it was over. He was still covered in fresh blood, but it was no longer flowing freely. He pulled himself to his feet, nursing his wounded shoulder, and found himself lightheaded. It made sense, considering the amount of blood he’d lost, but he pushed through anyway.

                “Is my duffle in here?” he asked. “Do you know?”

                _I believe it is closer to the entrance,_ Cas answered. _Would you like me to -- ?_

                “No, I got it. Thanks though. And, you know, thanks for healing me too.”

                _No thanks are necessary. I only wish you would let me do more._

                Sam didn’t respond to that, couldn’t think of a way to. Instead, he started walking. His duffle was indeed by the entrance of the cave, and he dug out two water bottles before shouldering it and pressing onwards. The first bottle was empty within minutes. He was so thirsty, and he wondered how long he had been tied up.

                _You were there almost twenty-four hours_ , Cas answered his unspoken question.

                Damn. Sam had thought it had only been a few hours. He must have blacked out at some point. He opened the second bottle.

                The sun continued to rise in the sky, but he felt no closer to the road or a town or anything. He stopped to rest by a tree that looked like all the others and dug around in his duffle for something to eat. All he found was a bag of pretzels. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to do.

                _I could help_ , Cas offered again. _I don’t know where Dean is, but I can find the car_.

                “Am I heading in the right direction?”

                _More or less_.

                “Then I’m fine. Just – can you give me some company or something?”

                _I thought I already was_.

                “I mean, like, talk to me. Tell me a story. I don’t care, just something to pass the time.”

                _Have I ever told you about how I accidentally set back human evolution?_

                Sam snorted. He wasn’t sure it was an appropriate response. “No, you haven’t.”

                _Oh, yes. Early_ Homo ergaster _were supposed to be the ones to discover fire._

                Sam always liked Cas’s stories, whether they took place during the beginning of the universe, the first written poem, the Vietnam War, or any time in between. Cas had been there, he saw it all happen, and he could recall it a million times better than any textbook could.

                This time, Cas’s story took them back a little less than two million years ago, when _Homo ergaster_ was still a tentative presence in Africa and Castiel was a relatively new presence on Earth. Sam laughed when Cas said he stopped a thunderstorm from happening to save a small family who couldn’t find shelter in time, because Cas has always had a soft spot for humans, even before they were technically humans, apparently.

                _Of course,_ Cas said _, by saving one family I set back the entire population. I guess not much has changed since then_.

                Sam frowned. He absolutely hated when Cas thought like that, as if he hadn’t saved so many people and done so much good in the world. “Cas . . . “

                _Don’t. I’m fine. Anyway, Zachariah told me that I had ruined everything. Gabriel said it didn’t matter because they hadn’t evolved enough to handle fire anyway. I’m still not quite sure who to believe._

                Sam didn’t answer. He didn’t think he had any authority over this matter, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know where to begin to console Cas. Say that everything worked out for the best? Really, there was no way of knowing.

                Either way, Cas’s story lasted until they reached the road, thankfully within eyesight of the Impala. Of course, now that he had made it, Sam had no idea what to do. Dean was likely still in the woods somewhere. There was no phone signal up here, and Sam had lost his radio when he had been taken. The only thing he could really do was wait by the Impala for Dean to come back.

                _He won’t stop looking for you,_ Cas said as Sam rested against the hot metal. _You know how Dean is. He’d die before he left you for dead_.

                “That’s true,” Sam agreed, “but he’s not stupid either. For all he knows, he’s alone in the woods with two wendigos. He just lost his partner and has no idea where to start looking or what to do when he finds them. He has to come back soon.”

                _Are you sure?_

                “Positive. There’s a rule.”

                _I suppose you know him better than I do_. Cas sounded doubtful, but there really was nothing else they could do besides wait.

                Sam had been right, of course, although the sun had almost set by the time Dean got back, and Sam had almost fallen asleep. He was thirsty and in pain and exhausted, but he perked up immediately when his brother crashed through the trees. He was exceptionally less perky when Dean pulled him into a tight hug that put pressure on his still-injured shoulder. Dean popped it back into place, checked him for more serious injuries, and immediately began pressing for details. How did you escape? Are the wendigos dead? How did you kill them and not die trying?

                Sam spun a vague tale featuring rotted rope and slow wendigos that wasn’t too terribly far from the truth. Except where he conveniently forgot to mention that it was Cas that killed them, and not his own quick thinking with a flare gun. Dean bought it, and Sam only felt a little bad for lying.

 

 

 **II.**            Sam was drowning, but that wasn’t even the worst bit. He was drowning, the water was freezing and filled with hundreds of slimy tendrils of algae, and he couldn’t move a muscle. His body was reacting as if everything was normal, muscles relaxed, pulse slow, attempting to breathe normally even though there was no air to be had. He somehow found the energy to scream, but rather than bubbles, his voice floated to the surface in the form of rings of black smoke. That was the exact moment he knew he was dreaming, but it did nothing to stop terror from flooding his veins as water flooded his lungs.

                _Sam, breathe_.

                He couldn’t, couldn’t get a single breathe, couldn’t even see the surface and wouldn’t be able to move if he could.

                _Please._

                He was trying, but there was nothing. Only the water and the algae and – oh, God, some of it was trying to slither down his throat.

                _Sam, please breathe. Or I will breathe for you_.

                He was becoming lightheaded, his vision blurry and darkening around the edges. He recognised the signs of approaching unconsciousness and gave up. At this point, there was no reason to keep fighting.

                Sam jumped awake when air filled his lungs. He gasped and panted gratefully and was thankful that it was an unusually warm night as he rubbed the goosebumps on his arms.

                For a moment, he was very confused. He wasn’t in the same position he had fallen asleep in, and this definitely didn’t look like his room.

                _I’m so sorry, Sam_ , Cas interrupted his thoughts, sounding extremely distressed. _You weren’t breathing and I didn’t know what to do. I shouldn’t have taken control from you without asking. I panicked, and I’m so sorry_.

                Then it clicked. He was sitting up, in the foetal position, surrounded on either side by thick black feathers. Sam recognised them, of course. He had seen the wings before, but not like this. Not when they were protruding from his own shoulder blades, wing oil leaking down his own back. The oil tingled where it dripped, and the wings were heavy, but a lot lighter than he expected. He flexed his back experimentally, not really expecting it to have any effect, but to his surprise, two of the wings twitched, the feathers rustled, he may have jostled a lamp.

                “Cas, what . . . ?”

                _It helped when I had my own vessel,_ Cas answered softly. _I thought it might help now. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more_.

                Sam knew exactly what Cas was referring to immediately: Those nights when he would shiver and shake, or else would be paralysed with fear, crying out in his sleep from some horror his mind conjured up. Cas would hold him tight and whisper soft reassurances into his hair. If it was bad, he’d wrap his wings around Sam as well, the soft down and gentle touch of Grace helping him ease out of the nightmare. It was such a stark contrast to what he woke up to tonight. He couldn’t even feel the touch of Grace on his skin because it was inside him as well, and he had simply grown used to it.

                That was terrifying, almost more so than the dream.

                _Sam? I think it may be best if I go –_

“No!” Sam protested a little too loudly. He was silent for a moment, listening for any signs that Dean may have heard him. There was nothing. Sam hugged himself a little tighter, and the wings mimicked his movement as if it were instinctual. “No, Cas, please don’t leave. Not until you’re ready. I can’t lose you.”

_Okay. I won’t go anywhere._

                “Promise?”

                _If you want me to stay, I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. I promise._

                Sam sighed and let himself relax. He was so tired. After the wendigo hunt, they were back on the road immediately, and Sam hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in what felt like ages. Years, probably. He laughed humourlessly with the thought. It was close enough to truth.

                “And Cas?” Sam whispered, his muscles lax but his brain still whirring. “Thanks for taking control when you did.”

                _Do you no longer wish to die?_

                Sam sighed and moved to lay on his side, the wings shifting accordingly. Did he still want to die? Well, wasn’t that the question of the year. Of his life, really.

                _I’m sorry. That’s a very personal question, and you’re tired. I’ll ask again when it is more situationally appropriate._

                “No, it’s fine,” Sam mumbled. “I get it. With the wendigo hunt and now this nightmare, and really, everything before all this . . . I get it. I just don’t have an answer for you right now.”

                _I understand. I’ll leave you alone now. Goodnight, Sam_.

                “’Night, Cas.”

                Sam thought there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would be able to fall asleep again, but it wasn’t long before he felt himself drifting.

 

 

 **III.**           Cas was in a bad place today. He had bad days often, and considering it had been three weeks at the very least since he last fell into a pit of despair, Sam considered it progress.

                Today, Cas was going on about how he was inadequate and Sam deserved so much better than him. Well, he wasn’t exactly going on about it. It was extremely difficult to get Cas to talk when he got like this. About anything, really. Sam couldn’t even get an opinion on lunch from him, which was saying something considering how excited Cas was when he realised that he could taste food again when Sam was in control.

                And the worst part was that Sam didn’t know how to help. He couldn’t hold Cas or rub up and down his spine or card his fingers through his hair because he’d have to do it all to himself and it wasn’t the same. He knew that from experience now.

                “Cas?” he said that afternoon. Dean was out getting something for the Impala, so he wasn’t afraid of being overheard. “I love you.”

                _I love you too_ , Cas answered automatically, but even though Sam knew the words were sincere, he still sounded dejected.

                Sam sighed. Then he got an idea. It wasn’t a great idea by any means, but as long as Cas was kicking himself for hurting Sam in the past, the least Sam could do was attempt to show him otherwise.

                He shut the book he was reading and rested it on the bedside table before laying down, adjusting until he was comfortable. He stretched leisurely and relaxed, running his hands down his chest, his stomach, hips, and thighs. He tried to pretend they were Cas’s hands on him, as difficult as that was in their current situation. In any case, it worked; it wasn’t long before Sam felt the familiar thrum of lust under his skin.

                _Sam?_

“I wish I could kiss you.” It was the first thing Sam could think of to say, and it was absolutely true. There was nothing more he wanted in the world right then than to feel Cas’s lips on his.

                _Me too_.

                “I need you.” Sam’s hands lingered around his pelvis, but he didn’t touch, not just yet. This was the only way he could think of to physically reassure Cas, and he wanted it to be as good as possible. “It’s been too long.”

                _I agree, but I’m not sure what you want me to do. I can’t touch you._

                “Cas, take over. Touch me.”

                Cas didn’t need to be told twice. In a heartbeat, Sam’s arms were moving outside of his control, sliding under his shirt to circle his fingers around a nipple. Sam squirmed and whined under the touch. Evidently, Cas hadn’t shoved Sam into the back seat. He’d only taken enough control to be able to touch Sam how he wanted, and that was perfect.

                Sam felt himself sit up and tug his shirt over his head before laying back down, both hands returning to his chest. Sam moaned softly, a familiar heat ever so slowly beginning to pool in his stomach.

                _Can you come from this?_ Cas asked conversationally. _You have before_.

                “Not without you,” Sam answered with a small goofy smile.

                _What a strange situation we’ve found ourselves in_ , Cas remarked as Sam’s hands travelled lower, unfastening the button on his jeans and shimmying them off. Cas palmed him through his briefs. Sam groaned and lifted his hips to the touch. It was weird, to say the least, that Cas was touching him with his own hands. He wasn’t sure if this counted as mutual masturbation or what. The thought itself was amusing.

                Sam felt a bead of precome seep into the fabric and simultaneously heard Cas moan.

                “Does this feel good, Cas?” he sighed as Cas – much more eagerly – pulled his briefs down to pump his cock slowly, undoubtedly savouring the sensation.

                _I feel like I should be asking you that_. Cas’s voice wasn’t breathless per se, but there was definitely a needy quality to it that went straight to Sam’s cock. _I wish I could taste you_ , Cas continued. It usually took a while to convince him to do it, but when Cas started talking dirty, all bets were off. _Wrap my lips around you, run my tongue over your slit and drink down everything you have to offer. Is that what you want?_

                Sam whined. Yes, he very much wanted that.

                It didn’t take long, what with Cas working his hand expertly on his cock, spewing filth into his head, because even if it wasn’t actually Sam’s motive behind this, it really had been too long since they’d been intimate, and this was about as intimate as it got, Sam realised. For all the times that they held each other impossibly tight, pressed as closely as physically possible and hoped against hope to somehow get even closer, as if to meld both their bodies into one being, this was as close as they had ever gotten. It was with that realisation that Sam came with a surprised shout, spilling over his hand and up his chest. Cas groaned loudly as well and dragged Sam’s fingers lazily through the trail of come before bringing them to his mouth. They both moaned at the taste, and Sam’s cock gave a final valiant twitch, almost painfully.

                Sam sighed in content and felt his muscles relax as Cas relinquished his control completely.

                “Cas,” he said quietly, almost afraid to disturb the atmosphere they had created. “I know today was one of those days for you, and I’m really sorry that I couldn’t hold you through it this time. But I . . . this was . . . This is how you make me feel all the time, Cas. And, I mean, maybe this wasn’t a great way to show it, but you make me feel like I really matter, like my life means something. Christ, Castiel, you’re an _angel_. I worshipped angels once upon a time, but you look at me like _I’m_ the one to be worshipped, and I can’t . . . I can’t begin to explain with words how that makes me feel. So don’t think that you don’t matter or that you’re no good for me or whatever. Because you’re literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

                Cas was quiet. Too quiet. Sam grew increasingly uncomfortable with each moment that passed in silence, thinking maybe he had said something wrong, that he had crossed some sort of line or accidentally offended Cas somehow. But then Cas finally spoke, his voice soft and reverent.

                _I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you, Sam. You’ll never truly know how much you mean to me. Thank you_.

                Sam smiled a little. He thought he knew exactly how much he meant to Cas, if it was at all comparable to how much Cas meant to him.

**IV.**          Not a week later, it was Sam’s turn to have a bad day. A really bad day. As in, he couldn’t find it in himself to drag his ass out of bed, and with each passing second, he berated himself for being lazy and unmotivated, which only made himself feel worse. And so the wheel turned.

                Cas knew that Sam is not usually a physical person. Although he tolerates Cas’s touch when he’s like this, he prefers the softly spoken praises and reassurances and promises that his angel showers him with. This was something Cas could do for Sam now, but it wasn’t working. Sam was just as dejected now as he was when he woke up at ten that morning – extremely late for Sam.

                But Dean was on a hunt without him, and as if that didn’t make Sam feel shitty enough to begin with, he was relying on Sam’ research. Research that Sam was not currently doing because he felt too empty and hopeless to crawl out from his cocoon of sheets.

                _Sam_ , Cas started as the clock on the wall _ting_ ed twice – two pm. _Would you like me to help you with the research?_

                Sam took his time in answering. “How?” he muttered.

                _I could take over for a while. Let you get some rest and recharge while I do the work_.

                “I won’t make you do that, Cas.”

                _You’re not making me do anything. Even if you could, I’m offering. You don’t have to accept, of course. But this way it will be just like you stayed in bed all day, except I’ll have kept up with your work._

                Like productive sleepwalking, Sam’s mind provided helpfully.

                _Yes, exactly_ , Cas agreed.

                Sam thought it over for a moment but ultimately nodded slowly. He felt Cas take control gradually, like laying on the beach and letting the tide engulf him one wave at a time. Sam barely noticed as Cas climbed out of bed, tripping as the sheets tangled around his legs, and made his way to the library. Sam just let himself be swallowed up by his depression, only emerging once when Dean called and retreating into his mind again as soon as he hung up.

                Sometimes Sam needed to be helped up on his bad days. But sometimes he just needed to be sad for a while, something that was rarely allowed with his lifestyle. If it were in himself to be happy, he would be ecstatic that they had figured out a way to make it happen.

 

 

 **I.**             Sam was pissed, absolutely frothing at the mouth. He couldn’t remember feeling so angry in his life, although he undoubtedly had been, but that didn’t matter at the moment. Dean was such an _idiot_ sometimes, and that was usually fine, but this surpassed all his previous moments of stupidity. It wasn’t even ignorance anymore; it was selective memory, selective hearing, and that was probably what pissed him off the most.

                _Sam, you need to calm down_ , Cas advised.

                But the bunker was empty and Sam was taking the opportunity to throw a fit. “No! I’m done being calm, Cas! That’s all I ever am, is calm!”

                _Sam, if you don’t calm down, I’m going to take over and **make** you. This isn’t healthy._

                Sam ignored him completely and pulled his fist back, ready to take his frustrations out on the wall. Of course, as soon as he threw the punch, Cas made good on his threat to take control, and Sam froze mid-punch.

                _Goddammit, Cas, stop!_ Sam shouted. Except the sound came from his own head rather than from his mouth, and boy was that a weird experience.

                “No, Sam,” Cas said, but it was in Sam’s voice and _that_ was even weirder. “It’s fine to be angry, but I won’t let you hurt yourself because of it. There are healthier outlets.”

                _Cas, I swear to God –_

                “I know you may not be familiar with any outlets besides violence, but they are there. We just need to find one fitting for you.”

                _CAS!_

                But Cas wasn’t listening. Well, that was unfair to say. Cas was listening, but he was choosing to ignore Sam for the moment in order to manoeuvre his way through the bunkers long hallways. The truth was that Sam could very easily overthrow Cas and take control back, but he was unwilling to do so just yet. He was also unwilling to admit that Cas may be right, but he would see where this took them.

                Cas led them down the hallway that led to the garage, and Sam thought they might go for a drive. That was more Dean’s coping technique, but it wouldn’t hurt in this situation either. But Cas didn’t turn left to the garage. Rather, he continued to the end and turned right, to the shooting range.

                _Really, Cas?_

                “Do you have a better suggestion?”

                Sam didn’t, and that probably should have been more troubling than it was.

                _Do you even know how to shoot a gun?_

                “No, but you do.”

                . . . _You could just ask, you know._

“Muscle memory, Sam. I don’t need to be in your head to figure out how to use a gun.”

                Sam was sceptical, but he let Cas do his thing and approach the gun locker. Bit of a misnomer, really, considering they never locked it. Cas hovered his – Sam’s – their – hand over each firearm in turn, and that’s when Sam heard it: It wasn’t anything distinct, but he could _hear_ the voice wondering if it mattered which gun he picked. It didn’t sound like Cas’s voice, but there was no doubt that it belonged to the angel. Jesus Christ, he was _in Cas’s head_.

                Cas eventually chose a revolver, which Sam might have suggested if he wasn’t so freaked out about _hearing his thoughts_. By the time Cas had loaded the gun and was taking aim, most of Sam’s anger had dissipated to be replaced by something like fear. He wondered if Cas knew that Sam was in his head like this.

                The first shot startled him, and it was the weirdest thing because his muscles didn’t jerk in response. That’s about when the panic set in, if Sam had to guess. He thought of the time that someone else held a weapon with his own hands – and came up with too many examples. This was also strange: His heart rate wasn’t increasing, he wasn’t struggling for air, he didn’t feel the instinctual need to curl in on himself. The panic was completely in his head, and he didn’t know how to fight that. Honestly, it just made it ten times worse.

                _Cas,_ he said as calmly as he could, _You’ve made your point. I feel much better. Can I please have control back now?_

                “Sam?” Cas immediately lowered the gun and turned the safety on. “Are you alright?”

                _Not really_ , Sam answered. No point in lying; Cas would know anyway. _I just really –_

                Sam hadn’t finished the thought when he felt his muscles relaxing, the gun falling from his hands as his body once again began responding to him. His pulse sky rocketed, he gasped for air, his hands shook. The sudden change made him lightheaded. Sam immediately sat down, leaning against the barrier and holding his head in his hands, breathing in for four counts and out for eight, just like Cas had taught him. It wasn’t the worst panic attack he had ever had, and all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. He kept breathing.

                It didn’t take long to calm down, relatively speaking. It helped that Dean was away, the only voice in his head was his own, and he felt completely alone.

                When his pulse finally settled somewhere below one hundred bpm, he took one last deep breath and hauled himself off the floor, back to his room, where he crawled into bed and pulled the covers around himself.

                Sam was too wired to sleep. He just needed comfort, but Cas wasn’t in any position to provide that, and there was no chance that Sam would react well to Cas using his own arms to hold him this time.

                It was silent for a long time, and when Cas finally did speak, it was very gently. Sam had no idea how Cas could possibly control the volume in his head, but he appreciated it all the same.

                _Are you alright, Sam?_

                “Yeah,” Sam muttered, “I’m fine. Sorry.”

                _Don’t apologise for this, not ever. But please, tell me what happened so we can avoid it in the future._

                Sam laughed. There wasn’t anything funny about any of this, and the sound came out dry and humourless. “It’s the stupidest thing.”

                _Nothing that makes you react like that is stupid. Your fears are –_

“Legitimate. I know. You’ve told me before.”

                _And I will continue to tell you until you believe it._

Sam sighed. He didn’t want to talk about it. It was stupid, like he said. And Cas could probably hear what was freaking him out in Sam’s head anyway.

                _Sam_.

                Okay, fine. “It was the gun,” he mumbled into his pillow.

                _The gun? You shoot guns all the time._

                “It wasn’t that I was shooting a gun. It was . . . it was that I wasn’t the one shooting.”

                He was probably projecting, honestly, remembering all the times they had been in a similar situation, but Sam swore he could hear Cas as he realised what he was saying. _It was because you weren’t in control of the weapon_.

                Then, just like every other time Sam panicked, the levee broke and he suddenly couldn’t stop talking. He told Cas about every time he was used as a weapon because someone wanted him to be: Lucifer, Meg, Gadreel. Every cursed object, witch, psychic creature that altered his judgement. As far back as Rockford, when a malicious spirit had Dean at the wrong end of Sam’s own gun. It felt like two lifetimes ago (and really, how many times had Sam died since then?), but it was still fresh in Sam’s memory, and he still thought about it sometimes.

                Cas listened patiently, with sympathy. Sam would have sworn that he could feel Cas getting more and more upset with each story. When he finally ran out of things to say, Sam was much calmer, and fairly tired.

                _Sam,_ Cas began softly. Sam recognised that tone, it was the tone that Cas used when neither of them were going to like what he was about to say. _I think I should go_.

                “Please don’t,” Sam said. He didn’t sound very convincing, but he really was very concerned.

                _I have to eventually. I need a new vessel, now that I’m strong enough to find one on my own. I won’t stay if my presence can hurt you like this._

                Sam didn’t argue. “And you’ll be okay? Your Grace won’t . . . ?”

                _It shouldn’t, given the time it’s had to adjust._

                “Okay,” Sam acquiesced, settling deeper into the mattress. “But please come back soon. And call me as soon as you find a vessel. I need to know you’re okay.”

                _Of course. I’ll leave tonight. But for now, rest._

                “Will you be here when I wake up?”

                _Likely not_.

                Sam sighed again but pulled the sheets tighter around himself anyway. He wasn’t sure if it was Cas’s Grace that was lulling him to sleep or if it was just his body relaxing after the panic. Either way, he didn’t want to nod off just yet, not if Cas was planning on leaving what he was asleep.

                “Cas?” Sam whispered. By how difficult it was becoming to string words together, he didn’t think he’d be able to stay conscious very long. “I love you. I want you to know that.”

                _I do. I love you too._

                “Don’t tell me now. Tell me when you come back.”

                _There’s no need to worry. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Two weeks at most_.

                It didn’t matter if Cas would be returning in two weeks or two months or two hours. Sam always worried.

                “Promise?”

                _On my life._

                Sam didn’t like the sound of that, but the prospect of sleep was much more enticing than that of an argument, so Sam let himself be reassured by Cas’s promise, however slightly, as he drifted off.

                At some point during the night, Sam woke up to slow streams of blue light trailing from his mouth and nose, and he knew it was Cas leaving him. He said a small, silent prayer for his angel’s safety and speedy return, already beginning to feel inexplicably empty.


End file.
